we are so lightly here
by Flyaway21
Summary: Wendy remembers and Peter forgets.


**"**_We don't mean to hurt each other but we do. And perhaps no matter how right we are for each other, we'll always be a little too wrong."_ ** Beau Taplin**

* * *

Wendy knows the precise moment that Peter will arrive without fail. Some deep hidden part of her that operates without thought or struggle. It's natural and easy, like the instinct of an animal. Just as the darkness had begun to deepen into night, after the world has turned small and quiet, suspended, he comes.

A barely there tap of glass, a forgotten gust of wind, the moon bright and eager through the London smog. The first night of each month Peter flies to her window.

Just like clockwork.

The one her father wears in the pocket of his waistcoat, the one he takes such pleasure in snapping open and closed, a reassuring gesture for when he is uncertain because Wendy has recently learned that grown ups feel things like fear too. She wonders how many hours of daylight that little watch saw when she and John and Michael were away in Neverland.

She imagines her father with his neat mustache and crisp suit and the bruises that had steadily crept into the tired skin beneath his eyes, standing at the front door, scanning the streets, trying to pick his three children from the thinning crowd. Imagines the look on his face each night when they failed to return. And through it all there is that stupid pocket watch opening and closing, a little worn around the edges now from the times his fingers gripped it too tight.

But perhaps not the best comparison for Peter Pan. After all, Wendy highly doubts Peter even knows what a pocket watch is. Or cares.

More like the lunar cycle then, the push and pull of the tides. Sun rising, sun setting.

Peter flies to her window.

Wendy hadn't been able to stay in Neverland. Had wanted to more than almost anything else and in the end, that's why she knew she couldn't. Because people cannot have what they want most. Even as a child, she had understood that notion, that irrefutable fact of life and here it is now, the sacrifice that reality demands of her.

Here was the first payment she would make for the strange confusing transition from child to adult, one she still wanted despite how much she knew it would hurt.

Peter had gone sullen and cold when she'd told him and all Wendy could think the first time her heart broke was how he resembled a child who'd lost its favorite toy. She had eased just enough of the hurt by reminding herself that they would always have the memories of time spent together. No one could take that away. After all you didn't go through adventures like they had, death and danger and loss and just forget.

No matter who you are.

Had convinced herself that Peter was no exception.

And so Wendy had managed to bid him farewell without crying. Had bit her lip and tasted copper because the urge was still there on the tip of her tongue to take it all back. That first night, the first goodbye, Wendy watched Peter float up into the clouds out of sight, missing the rush of wind between her feet already with a sudden vengeance that frightened her.

She had sworn to Peter that it wouldn't change anything. That it wouldn't change them.

Anything to soften that broken look on his face that she hadn't understood at the time. A startling clarity rarely seen in his eyes when they were usually so glossed over, enamored in tales of his own glory and cunning. A suicidal kind of awareness reserved for people who knew terrible things were coming their way and were powerless to stop them.

She hadn't liked this new look at all, tried to wipe it from her mind on the nights when doubt began to fester.

Because it was Wendy and Peter. That was all. And that would be enough.

* * *

In the end, it's alright. Those sleepless nights mean nothing because Peter does come back and she feels rather foolish and weak for ever doubting he wouldn't.

They sit pressed together like twins on the small balcony, bare feet dangling over the thick humid air of summer that's dug its claws into the city, regaling in their tales of conquest but it isn't long before Peter is distracted by new things.

Like how TigerLily was kidnapped and Hook held her captive, refused to give up his prize, even held siege in a half flooded cave for six months but Peter, through no small amount of intelligence and cunning, managed to break through the pirate's defenses just yesterday. He never mentioned what happened to TigerLily.

It's only been a month, Wendy wants to say.

But a stray unsettling thought creeps in that perhaps time isn't the same here as it is in Neverland. And she doesn't ask, doesn't say a word because she isn't sure she wants to know.

Because while she has come to accept that time will eventually steal Peter away from her but it isn't supposed to happen yet, not for years and years, not until she's ready.

So Wendy just bites her lip and forces herself to smile and laugh and soak in as much of Peter while she can because soon he will be gone.

Because this is what she asked for the first time she sent him away.

* * *

Three months later and Wendy pretends not to notice the changes that have come over them.

It's nothing physical, nothing you could point a finger at. She's still just a girl, still skinny and small and lacking any womanly curves. He's still just a boy, dirty and rumpled and exactly one head taller than she.

It's a possibility though that she's outgrown him already but she squashes that thought down ruthlessly before it can get any bigger, before it can take form. And while she's still sure she wants to grow up, never has doubted that, she also has come to realize that means leaving some things behind. The more she sees Peter here in a world subject to the whim of time, the more she suspects growing up might have one casualty she never intended to pay.

Because Peter hasn't called her Wendy all night. Hasn't said anything at all that makes her think that he could pick her out from a dozen other girls.

At times he gets distracted explaining Neverland, describes it to her like she's never been there before, never set foot on the beaches or swam in its ocean or ridden fast and wild on the wind.

And that is one thing Wendy cannot stomach. So she asks, do you remember how that one cave had dozens of sharp teeth that would skewer your leg if you'd trip, do you remember that mermaid whose laugh sounded like a crow, do you remember over and over and over.

Do you remember me Peter, she wants to ask but never does. Because the answer won't matter if she can make him. More than people, more than anything, Peter's own greatness sticks in his mind best. So she asks, do you remember saving me from the pirates, from Hook? Do you remember how nimbly you flew through the air even when the cannon tore at you?

And Peter would look at her for a split second, hooded and wary, like he was seeing her for the first time. Like she was a stranger until then. But after a few breathless heartbeats had passed, the light would flare in his eyes, ah yes, I remember, I do, I do….and off he'd go about her and Michael and John and she'd be able to breathe once more, her laugh perhaps more shrill than it was before. But it was okay because Peter remembered.

* * *

July and August and September fall away and Peter finds the path to her window again and again like they are stuck in some tragic loop destined to go on forever. Despite having the entire world to go, it is her windowsill that Peter keeps finding himself at.

And despite the way it takes longer and longer each visit for recognition to light those green eyes, Wendy is unable to keep from smiling when he comes.

That night finds Peter unusually quiet. The moon yawns wide in the sky, so big that Wendy swears she could reach out and brush her fingers across it. When she mentions this to Peter, he turns to her, a few scant inches away and pulls her to her feet, filled with sudden boyish energy.

"I could teach you to fly." His hand is a tight band, rough callouses brushing the delicate skin over her wrist.

"I know how to fly Peter. You taught me." She tries to tug herself free, desperate to escape suddenly, terrified that he will feel the way her heart thrums against his hand like it's seeking contact, trying to free itself from her body. Because falling out of love with Peter isn't something that she's managed yet.

But he just smiles, same crooked smile she remembers so well, dimples peeking through. "You don't know how to fly. Only I can do that." And he puffs his chest out. In any other situation, any other night, Wendy might laugh. But not now. Not when it feels like there isn't enough air left in the room, in the world.

"Peter." She begins carefully, the shape so familiar on her tongue and she feels like they've been doing this an eternity already. "Peter, do you remember when you saved me from Hook?"

A dark cloud passes over his face, the one thing that can make him look at all older. "Captain Hook is a blackhearted-"

"But do you remember Peter?" She presses, taking a step forward.

Peter blinks fast at her, taken aback. Usually Wendy would be content to listen for hours on end, a small smile curving the corner of her lips, laughing at the right times. The perfect audience. And she knows what Peter hates more than almost anything was being interrupted at the beginning of a story brewing but she can't help but press forward.

"You do, right? Me and John and Michael? When we were all in Neverland. You remember me, remember Wendy, don't you?" Her throat is dry and trying to hide the desperation makes her dizzy. "I was mother to the Lost Boys. And our kiss?"

Peter looks scared for the briefest moment, a trick of the shadows that makes her breath catch somewhere inside her chest and then the moonlight breaks free from the clouds above. The darkness scatters and Peter laughs.

It is the sound of that laugh, the delight in it that hurts more than anything else. More than the rejection. More than the blank disbelief on his face.

He shakes his head, messy curls falling over his eyes, hidden from her. "Funny girl. You're a funny girl."

When he starts to laugh again, Wendy cries.

She doesn't stop when he nudges his shoulder against hers, a warm steady weight.

Doesn't stop when he begins a new story. Doesn't stop when there is a rustle of wind and then heavy silence.

When the sobs finally do subside and her eyes open, red and watering and swollen, she is alone.

* * *

The next month and Peter is late. Wendy debates leaving the latch fixed. Let him come. Let him see that she no longer cares.

Lazy minutes tick by and she sits and sits and waits, trying to pretend that she is not waiting at all. And Peter still doesn't come.

A terror rises up, slowly and then all at once, and she stumbles to her feet suddenly out of breath, heart stuttering a wild beat and flings the window open as wide as it will go. The cold air rushes in, biting at her bare wrists and ankles but Wendy does not care. Her skin feels fitted too tight over her bones, overheated and the possibilities that rise up in the quiet are unbearable and everything is so very wrong.

Because maybe Peter will not come. And the world is too big and she cannot find him. Might never see him again and she still isn't ready to say goodbye for all her false bravado only seconds before.

The night deepens and Peter does not come.

* * *

It is the first of the month and Wendy doesn't wait by the window. She is a dozen miles away and the opera is just about to start, curtains bustling, drawing to the side, room darkening and everyone holds their breath. The conductor raises his hand…Her first visit to the opera, something she had clung to as a child as a very grown up thing to do. Her parents had deemed her ready, presented a silver ticket to her in a way that would rival the drama of actors on a stage.

And here she is in her finest dress, white gloves, the very picture of a demure young lady if not for the way her hands fidget on her lap, the way her lip is pulled this way and that by her teeth, the way her breath comes in short pants.

Because it is the first and Peter might be coming.

Peter on his way and she would not be back until long after night had fallen and she knows that Peter will not wait. Might even forget why he flew to that particular window in the first place.

And while she doubts she could ever hate Peter, there is a new feeling growing inside her chest, a tightening pressure, a dark resentment because Peter has managed to steal even this. Because the power he holds over her is just not fair when there are times when he doesn't even remember her name. And she wishes she could hate him because it would make things so much easier.

Wendy's eyes burn as the music rises to a dull roar.

She makes it through until intermission grants her a reprieve, pure stubborn press of will.

Her parents suggest they step outside, a breath of fresh air because she is looking rather pale so Wendy stands and follows them. The night wind on her skin helps not at all.

She takes in one deep breath before she turns and heaves to the side, bile splattering the cobblestones.

There are a few sympathetic noises from the bystanders around her, a few disgusted ones as well.

Her mother's gentle cool hand on her forehead, her father standing to the side, a concerned crease of brow, already in the process of calling for their carriage. Snow falls as they make their way home, obscuring the city outside, a hazy world of white. Her father assures her that the second half of the opera is never as good as the first, that indeed they are lucky to miss the crowds. But Wendy leans her burning forehead against the glass of the carriage window and tries to convince herself that she is just sick. That she is expected to feel this terrible when she is sick.

When they arrive back home, after she has pulled off her dress and left is lying in a heap on the floor, something catches her eye, something she's been fighting not to look at since she first stepped foot in the room.

The window is open, nudged that way, just a few inches, barely enough to let any cold air through but still...

Peter was here. Peter came and for the first time, she isn't at all sure how to feel about that.

* * *

One month later and it isn't dark yet. Another hour or two and the sun will disappear entirely but for now, there are still weak strands of light above the rooftops. Wendy stands at the window, her fingers absentmindedly playing over the scar on her arm.

The curved line of even paler skin from when the mermaids dragged her underwater. She had lashed out in panic, catching her arm on a sharp piece of twisted coral. It had barely bled at the time and Wendy hadn't noticed until it was all over.

But these days, that one memory replays in her mind often. A strange thing in competition with everything else. Those few seconds when the water had closed over her head and the noise of the world had disappeared, a slow fade out. Before Peter had snatched her from the waves, hacking and coughing.

Neverland was perfect and surreal and nothing like London. Nothing like anything else. Mysterious and beautiful and dangerous and then between one breath and the next, a crack of cruelty that remained hidden beneath the waves. Beneath the beauty, beneath the charm and she remembered the feeling of pure shock that Neverland could do this to her. Drag her into the darkness and try to change her.

Had remembered knowing that _this_, this wasn't supposed to happen.

Wendy lets out a breath and tries not to think in metaphors.

The dying sun casts the scar in a soft pink light and she runs her finger over the sharp rise and fall of skin one last time. Smiles and closes her eyes and _remembers_.

Because no one can take that away from her. She stays there for awhile longer, allows herself to lose track of time, to soak in this last moment, the finality of it all. The relief is there too, muddled in with the salt and sting, a weight dropped from her shoulders.

A strange sort of melancholy that she doesn't know what to do with yet, one she suspects has become a permanent fixture in her life. But it's a small price to pay in the end. And she'll learn how to carry it.

Wendy remembers and remembers and remembers and then closes the window.


End file.
